Three Little Words
by Fayola
Summary: How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. The first time Jazz and Prowl say those three little words to one another.
1. Chapter 1

* * *

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

The first time Jazz and Prowl say those three little words to each other. Everyone's written at least one version. I have simply smooshed a few of mine together into one giant, fluff-freakin-tastic stream of parallel universes!

I hope tis not too confusing to read. Just remember: events are non-sequential, non-same-universe-y. (Real word? Is now.) Warnings for occasional gropage (as my smut fairy has left me high and dry, damn her). Enjoy!

* * *

Prowl didn't look up from his data pad as he heard his door chime, simply ordered, "Enter."

He did look up, however, upon hearing the familiar footsteps of his berth partner rather than the expected ones of Wheeljack.

"Jazz," he said evenly, spark clenching in his chest. "I'm expecting someone, can this wait?"

Jazz looked furious, optics narrowing and guard ridges furrowing. "_No_, this can't _wait,_ cuz I'm leavin' fer th' moon base _tomorrow morning!_"

Prowl shuttered his optics tightly, unable to withhold the pain the statement brought him. "I am still fully aware of your itinerary. Now, just what is the purpose of your visit?"

"My _visit?!_ I wanna know why you've been avoidin' me!"

"I haven't been avoiding you! I've been … helping _you _to avoid _me_."

"Why would I wanna do that?"

"Because… you don't… want us to be together anymore…?"

The light dawned. Sweet Primus, he was so insecure. "Is that what you been thinking?" He came around the desk. "Prowl, we had an argument. Bots have 'em all the time! Lookit Chromia 'n Hide -- they love each other an' they fight _all _the fraggin'_ time!"_

"Are you saying that you love me?"

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not changing the subject!" His voice betrayed more emotion than was usual. Jazz sighed through his vents and crouched next to his chair, his hands on his lover's knees.

"Don't ya know how I feel?" he said softly, looking up into his worried face. "Ain't it obvious?"

"I … I don't know. I don't really trust my observational skills in this matter."

He smiled, understanding. "I'm sorry, Prowl. It's just… it's like you've always known me better 'n I knew myself." Black hand interlaced with white. "I c'n be pretty thick-plated about these li'l things. I just thought ya un'erstood how much I love ya."

His lips curled into a small, sweet smile -- a true rarity. "You do."

Jazz smirked. "Yes, I do. An' I wanna spend my last night on the station with you, y' hear?"

"I have no objections to that."

"Mmm, you might. I'll see you …"

* * *

"… in the last holdin' cell on th' right. The panel is half welded shut, but it'll be there. Be careful," Jazz whispered in parting to his two companions, once again cursing his broken comm. "I'm gonna go disable the energy field."

"You sure the codes are still accurate?"

Jazz smirked. "You ever known Prowl to deviate?"

Bluestreak snorted. "You're his berth-mate, you tell me!"

Jazz gave the cheeky little gunner a good whack upside the head for his snark. Still, it was with affection in his voice that he said, "Get movin', ingrates!"

They swiftly began moving down the row of empty cells, swaying slightly with the rocking movements explosions caused throughout the Ark. Jazz moved in the opposite direction, back towards the control panel, with a small smile on his faceplates. As big of a stick-in-the-slag Prowl could be, he was glad his mate had opted to keep that torn-away panel in the back cell at least partially unrepared, which had been the work of a certain little saboteur not pleased at being confined to the brig by Prime just for interfacing too loudly. (If he wanted a good orn's recharge, he could change the sleeping arrangements! He was _Prime,_ for frag's sake!)

Hearing two short clangs from within the brig, Jazz deactivated the energy fields leading into the cell – the codes to which worked perfectly, to no bot's surprise – long enough to let Bluestreak and Bumblebee slip inside before slamming them down again. Then, knowing the alert the blip on the energy scans would cause, beat a hasty retreat before any 'Cons showed.

He ducked and weaved through the Ark corridors in a feat of grace that truly showed his skills as a saboteur. He made it to the cargo bay without spotting a single spark, 'Bot or 'Con.

Someone spotted him, though.

He slipped silently into the bay and was just about to reclose and lock the heavy door behind him when a hand suddenly grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. He almost cried out but the hand clamped over his mouth.

"Shh! It's only me."

"Prowler! Primus, y' scared me." He turned and pushed his mate into the shadows. They kissed each other hungrily for a few moments. It was all they usually got. "I thought you was dealin' with the Seekers."

"That was nearly a joor ago, Jazz," the tactician murmured into his audials, fingering a favorite seam.

"Really?" Jazz breathed, trying to sound nonchalant but failing as the searching fingers of his mate found the sensory node they were looking for. "Time sure flies when ya got a broken comm. Though it sure has been a re – ah! Quit playin' dirty, or I'm goin' fer th' doorwings! – sure's been a relief not to have ta listen to all yer battle-gab. You really chat a mech's audials off, y'know?"

"Mm." He stroked the seam one last time, touch butterfly-light, before holding his mate out at arm's length and giving him a once over. "How are you?"

Jazz huffed, rolling his optics behind his visor. "Not much of a laugher, are ya?"

"Why should I be when you do it so frequently for me?" came the dry response. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Jazz sighed. "I'm just so tired."

"You just need a good recharge," Prowl comforted, running soothing fingertips over the saboteur's face. "A good recharge, after this is all over and I interface the slag out of you."

"I'm already slagged out, Prowl," Jazz said humorlessly, not even able to give a wane smile at his dear mate's half-serious joke. "I'm _tired_ of this, all of this. Tired of the 'Cons, tired of the fighting, tired of failed missions, tired of all the near-misses, tired of seeing you for half a breem once a _deca_-orn, tired of this whole fraggin' war!"

Prowl didn't respond at first, just held the smaller mech all the closer to his chassis.

"We'll get through it, Jazz," he said at last, voice strong, certain, almost threatening. "We'll get through it… no matter how much interfacing it takes."

At this Jazz couldn't help but let out a snort of laughter. "Nice how ya got yer priorities straight: feel me up first, then check my well-bein'." He craned his neck up to kiss those sweet lip plates again. "Just another reminder of why I love ya."

Prowl suddenly sighed and leaned against the wall, as if struck weary. Jazz's spark squeezed in brief panic.

"Prowl, what is it?"

"Nothing." Softly, almost a gasp. "It's just… you've never said that before."

Jazz's optic guards knitted together. "I must have."

"No. Trust me, you haven't."

Jazz looked stricken. "Prowler, I'm sorry! Primus, if I had known that you …"

* * *

"… were unconscious for three full orns, you slagger," Ratchet growled down at him, voice harsh but face betraying the absolute sense of panic all had been feeling.

"Sorry," Jazz said with an unrepentant grin. "I was gonna get up an orn ago, but I needed the recharge."

That was untrue, of course. In the few brief times he had floated out of stasis, he could not have pulled himself completely out if he wanted to. He could only hover on the brink of coming on-line, able to hear or see nothing but garbled voices and foggy shapes. What he felt was even worse, enough to send him straight back into his comatose state. That had been quite a hit he'd sustained in their most recent battle against the Decepticons.

"Jazz, this is no laughing matter."

The saboteur turned at the somber tone of his voice, an uneasy feeling growing in his tanks at the total absence of the now serious CMO's gruff demeanor.

"Come on, Ratch," he said with false lightness. He could not shake that apprehensive churning within him. "I've had worse injuries 'n whatever I got _this_ time. An' Prowl got hit with the same blast as me, but I'm sure he's already up an' at 'em."

"Jazz…" Ratchet's vocalizor broke off with static. He was unable to finish his sentence, but he didn't have to.

A cold sensation swept through Jazz's chassis, leaving him numb and hollow. He leapt from his med berth and wove through the rows of fellow injured and recovering mechs to the back of the med bay, barely even hearing Ratchet calling after him and telling him to lie back down, barely even feeling the pain as his partially-healed wounds reopened. But he couldn't stop – he didn't even know how he got going. His movements were not his own. It was as if he were floating somewhere above, watching someone else control his body.

He reached the solitary berth against the back wall. A thin, silvery thermal blanket concealed its occupant. Before Ratchet could reach him and prevent him from doing so, Jazz reached out with one shaking hand, grasped the sheet in his fingers, and pulled it away.

The little saboteur knew what he would find beneath, but his spark still clenched in agony at the sight of Prowl's lifeless chassis. He fixed his optics on those of the tactician's, knowing they would forever more remain dark yet wishing with all his spark they would brighten again and look at him if only to narrow in that familiar look of annoyance. He wanted to hear his voice again, even if it _was_ telling him to frag off – in so many words – as Prowl was wont to do. He wanted just one more breem with his dear friend, one brief moment to tell him what he'd been meaning to say for vorns.

Optic suddenly stinging with coolant, Jazz grasped Prowl's cold, lifeless hand in his own. Even though he knew he went unheard, he whispered through a static-choked vocal processor, "I love you."

The tears of coolant could not be stemmed. Air was being drawn through intakes in great, raking sobs. Jazz fell to his knees, still clutching onto Prowl's hand with what little strength he had, chanting the words over and over again, wishing desperately they were heard.

"I love you, I love you, I …"

* * *

"… despise you Pit-spawned little glitches with every alloy of my being!"

Rare were the instances when Prowl lost control of his temper, so his spectacular display of fury stood testament to just how far the Twins had crossed that every-blurry line.

"When I get my hands on you, Ratchet won't even have enough scrap metal to make a toaster!"

Jazz, being on the safe side of the explosion (if there were such a thing), was finding the whole event rather hilarious. He was sprawled out on the floor, laughing his aft off at the sight of his friend chasing the Lamborghinis around the rec room. Prowl was, however, not as interested in demolishing the Twins as he so shouted but instead on the small object they were tossing back and forth to one another in an attempt to keep such from happening.

The melee brothers had walked in on their second and third in command in a rather compromising position – one where the former had the later bent backwards over a table and was running his glossa over his transformation seams – and were able to capture the moment with a little disposable camera that, through some brilliant stroke of luck, Sideswipe had in a subspace pocket. As Prowl and Jazz had been rather distracted, the Twins were able to take three good shots before Jazz spotted them and began making lewd faces at them. This had, of course, alerted Prowl and all Pit broke loose.

"I am going to personally rip off your interface cables and hang them up as decoration!"

Prowl, his newest threat still ringing on the air, took a lunging dive at Sunstreaker, who had just made a spectacular catch of the camera, taken a daring snapshot of the snarling tactician, and shot off toward the door. Jazz cheered him on with his escape between fits of laughter.

"Run, Sunny, run!"

Sideswipe was not far behind his brother, letting out an exuberant laugh of his own as Prowl stumbled over a chair and they were able to slip into the corridor with their interface cables still attached. He even had the ball bearings to stick out his glossa over his shoulder at their fuming SIC as he ran away for all he was worth.

By the time Prowl disengaged himself from the furniture, they were gone. He calculated the odds of catching up to the impish brothers before they had a chance to print and distribute the incriminating photographs -- fortunately, of the many fuses he'd blown his battle computer had not been one of them – and found the odds not worth a foot pursuit. And even if he did manage to catch up with them, he thought with a sour look to his still-chortling friend-turned-lover, he had a niggling suspicion the pictures would still somehow find their way to the light of day.

"Is there any particular reason," Prowl began, voice even but still rather icy and menacing, "that you found the attestation of our insubordination so funny?"

"'Insubordination'?" Jazz repeated, sobering slightly. "Is that what we're callin' you jumpin' me in the middle o' the rec room for Primus an' everyone to see?"

"In case you failed to notice, there is no one else here," Prowl said defensively, then scowled. "Or there _was _no one here." He collapsed onto a nearby couch, wondering just when it was he'd lost his CPU. Jazz must have been wondering the same thing.

"What made ya do it?"

Prowl sighed. "It would seem my self control has been weakened by attempting to hold it back all these vorns for decorum's sake."

"Hold what back?"

"My attraction to you."

Jazz nearly choked on the bluntness of his statement. His _what?_

"Well, tha's convenient," he said, rising to walk over to his long-time friend and sit beside him.

"How so?" Prowl turned, a questioning look on his face plates. Jazz shrugged.

"I love you."

Prowl turned away again, staring straight ahead with a blank look. They sat in silence like that for a while, Prowl staring ahead and Jazz staring at Prowl. Then, quite suddenly, the somber tactician stood and began heading for the door.

"Yo, where _you_ goin'?" Jazz cried in disappointment. He'd been hoping to pick up where Sunny and Sides had forced them to leave off.

"My quarters," came the simply reply. "And if you have any sense at all, you will follow."

Well, Jazz was no dummy.

"Yessir!" He gave a mock salute, to which Prowl gave a small frown.

"I cannot fathom what Prime will have to say about this," he confided. "It is not a wise move to have two commanding officers attached and therefo—"

He stopped short as they exited the rec room and walked smack dab into what looked like half the base. It didn't take either mech long to notice the small (to their comparison – they must have been rather large to the humans) squares of paper in many of their hands. It took even less time to figure out what must have been upon them.

"_Sides works fast," _Jazz said over a private comm link to Prowl, who only grunted in response. _"That was only what, five breems, tops?"_

"Does no one have work to do?" Prowl asked coolly, pushing his way through the lewdly smirking mechs, ignoring the hoots and whistles that followed him. Jazz grinned and followed after his now lover, trotting to keep…

* * *

… up with his much more experienced moves. It begged the question as to just how many times he had done this before. Once again, Prowl felt a little stab of inadequacy.

He shifted slightly, trying to get a better hold of his partner. Jazz was having none of it, though, and gripped his upper leg with a force that was almost painful.

"I don' think so," he hissed into his audials. "Yer mine tonight, Prowler."

"You think so?" he gasped, pressing a firm hand into the middle of the chest of the mech looming over him. He swung a leg over the smaller mech, then rolled over sharply, effectively reversing their positions. He latched onto Jazz's wrists, holding them over his head. The little saboteur was quicker, though. He curled his legs up to his chest and straightened them out sharply, kicking the tactician up and over his head. When Prowl's grip loosened in surprise, the smaller mech seized the opportunity and grabbed onto _his_ wrists, holding on tightly and continuing forward in the roll. He landed on top once more, knees on either side of Prowl's waist. Giving no quarter this time, he jerked the larger mech's hands to his sides, pinning one beneath his own back and holding tightly to the other. Now having a free hand, he reached up and poked Prowl right on the noseplates.

"Pinned!" he said jubilantly, grinning in self-satisfaction."

To Prowl's surprise, it was true. No matter how much he wiggled and squirmed, without the use of his arms, he could not push the smaller mech off of his chassis. (It might have had something to do with the fact that Jazz's inner thigh was rubbing suggestively up against the panel behind which his interface cable was stored each time he _did_ wiggle or squirm, but it did not do to think of his good friend in such a way.)

"I concede," he muttered, to which Jazz let go of Prowl's forearm and pumped his fists victoriously in the air. There came a combination of congratulatory cheers and boos and hisses from across the training room.

"Well done, Jazz!"

"Mute your vocalizor, Blue. Prowl, I am shocked and ashamed!"

"No kidding! You oughtta been able to snap that little microchip in half!"

"Guys! Be _nice!_ Prowl just made landfall two orns ago… plus he's not _nearly_ as lithe as Jazz anymore."

"Fantastic," Prowl groaned at this last vote of confidence, pushing Jazz off of him unceremoniously. "I'm _old_."

"That ain't news," Jazz chuckled, grinning up at the rising tactician. He stuck out a silver hand, which Prowl obligingly took (a pleasant tingle shot up through his arm at the touch). He helped the smaller mech to his feet (why was he so reluctant to release his hold?).

"But y' know, they're right," Jazz said to Prowl, a look of mock pondering on his faceplates. "I really oughtta be fightin' a mech my own age, so's they c'n handle it." He looked around the tactician's torso at the Twins and Bluestreak with a feral grin. "Any takers?"

There was a sudden clamoring of feet, hasty excuses being made of needing some energon or to report for a conveniently-remembered shift, and the Prowl and Jazz were suddenly alone in the training room. The saboteur's hearty laugh bounced off the walls.

"Smart mechs," he chortled, flopping back onto the soft work-out mats. "No way they'd-a been able t' handle the Jazz."

"_The_ Jazz?" Prowl sat down next to his friend, lowing himself to the floor in a much more graceful manner.

"Once ya die and come back t' life, you get the privilage of addin' an article t' yer name."

"Ah."

"Though I don't recommend it. The initiation process hurts like the Pit."

Prowl frowned. He had known Jazz for vorns and as a result of such had picked up on his many nuances. Now, despite their long separation, he instantly picked up on the too-light tone of his vocalizor that implied the feelings beneath were not as casual as he was trying to portray.

"Jazz.."

The saboteur gave a forced, painful smile.

"Everyone keeps tellin' me not t' talk about it." His visor dimmed in sadness. "They keep sayin' not t' bring up the pain agin. Trouble is, the pain's always there… never really goes away, so how c'n I bring it back?"

Prowl frowned again.

"I was just going to say I did not have a hanky, so if you start crying, you're on your own."

Jazz balked in surprise. Then, he grinned – a true grin – and began to laugh. This time, it was not loud and hearty enough the echo around the room, but at least it was candid. It lightened the weight that was pressing upon Prowl's spark to hear.

"Y' don't mind?" He gave the tactician a calculating look.

"I do not think I would be able to offer many words of advice, but for you, Jazz, I wouldn't mind if you talked me into stasis."

"Famous last words."

"I mean them."

The calculating look remained.

"Why?"

It was Prowl's turn to pause in surprise. Why indeed? He immediately told himself because Jazz was his friend, but he knew before the thought was even complete that it was not the truth. After vorns of doing so, he finally decided not to lie to himself… or Jazz.

"I… care for you greatly. I … I love you."

He looked at the mats in shame, unable to look at the little saboteur. Now that it was out, he wished could just melt into the floor. He did not wish he could take it back – he would never take it back as long as he was online – but he _did_ desperately desire to be millions of lightyears away so he did not have to look at the surprise and antipathy on his friend's faceplates. He was forced to do so, however, by a silver hand under his chinplate forcing his optics up.

"I'll do ya one better," Jazz said, grinning broadly. "I loved you the firs' time I laid optics on ya."

Prowl pulled his face from the light hold Jazz had on him, turning away.

"Do not mock me, Jazz," he said quietly, despondently.

"I ain't mockin' you!" he cried in outrage. "I was bein' serious!"

As if to prove his point, he seized Prowl's face in both hands, yanked him forward, and kissed him fiercely.

Prowl didn't know how to respond for a moment. For starters, he'd only been on the planet for a few orns, and while he seen Samuel Witwicky kiss Mikaela Banes on many occasions, he had never bothered to research the technical operation of the act. But it seemed Jazz, on the other hand, had and was taking full control. When in addition he began to run a hand along a particularly sensitive seam, sending out magnetic pulses along the way, Prowl found he didn't really care.

Quite suddenly, Sunstreaker's voice rang out from across the room.

"Oi! We leave you two alone for ten breems, and this is what we come back to find?!"

"This is an absolute outrage! Go back to grinding one another!"

"I concur. All the pansy-aft foreplay is going to make me sick!"

"_Guys!_ Leave them _alone!"_

Prowl jerked away in surprise. Jazz, scowling at the interruption, simply yanked him closer to close the gap…

* * *

…between their shifts was painfully long, boring, and lonely. Jazz was positively miserable. He wandered the corridors of the base, counting the astroseconds until Prowl would return from patrol with the humans. The occasional passing bot would glance his way curiously, not doubt wondering why the normally chipper mech looked so glum. The little saboteur didn't even have the spark to explain.

Quite suddenly, his bond with Prowl opened up. So new it was, he actually jumped, yelping in surprise at the strange – albeit wonderful – sensation.

_I do wish you would stop all that moping, _Prowl said over the connection.

_Can't help it, I miss you,_ Jazz sent back, sighing through his intakes forlornly even though he was already feeling megabytes better at having contact with his mate. (His _bond_mate, he corrected himself, marveling at that glorious fact.)

_You'll manage, _Prowl intoned emotionlessly._ Now let me get back to work._

_Fine,_ Jazz conceded with a long-suffering sigh._ I love you._

The last did not need to be said, as Prowl could just as well know such from the flood of emotion and affection Jazz sent across the bond. There was a brief pause before Prowl responded.

_I love you, too._

Then, Jazz could feel his bonded retreating from his CPU and closing off his end of the link so that he might get back to his patrol. Good mood going with it, the little saboteur went back to counting astroseconds.

Only four million, eight hundred thirty-six thousand, five hundred and two to go.

* * *

"Prowl?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

"Mmm. You already said that."

"Did I? I just wanted to make sure."

* * *

Perhaps the plot bunnies will leave me alone for a while now, yes?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: It would seem that simply one installment was not enough. The plot bunnies were kept at bay for only so long before my mind was besieged by a butt-load of one-shots, one-shots that – despite my best attempts – simply did not want to form themselves into complete, coherent stories. So what does one do with a bunch of half-formed snippits? Make another monstrosity of a multiple-universe medley! Hope it stands up to the first chapter. :D

* * *

Prowl couldn't help but release a sigh of relief through his vents as he left his office. While he enjoyed his work – a bit too much, at times – he did have orns where he just couldn't wait to get back to the comfort and safety of his own quarters. This particular orn had been a double shift spent dealing with a pair of rambunctious Lamborghinis, their pranks, and the injuries they inflicted upon the receivers (as well as the injuries inflicted upon the Twins _by_ the receivers, namely one very fragged off Ironhide), so he was rather looking forward to crawling into his berth with his mate.

Reaching the rooms he shared with said mate, he keyed in the entrance code and slipped inside. He was surprised to find the lights on, even more surprised to see, upon further investigation, Jazz recharging on their couch, two full cubes of their stash of good high-grade and the latest holonovel they had been reading on the floor beside him.

Prowl's spark clenched with guilt. Here Jazz had been – sweet, loving, patient Jazz – waiting for him to come home so they could spend a quiet evening together while he was off writing reports about silly string and guerilla water balloon attacks, not even sparing a moment to comm in that he would be late. With a soft sigh of frustration with himself, Prowl stepped around the holonovel and energon and gingerly lifted his mate's still, recharging form from the couch. He carried him into an adjoining rooming, turning out the lights as he went, and laid him out on their berth. As gentle as the tactician was, the movement was enough to rouse Jazz. He stirred, optics beginning to brighten behind his visor.

"Hey," he said thickly.

"I'm sorry," Prowl said softly, leaning over his mate to kiss that favorite spot, that small hollow near his left audio. "I did not mean to disturb you."

"Mmm," Jazz hummed contentedly, stray fingers coming up to stroke his lover's helm absently. "I didn't mean to fall inta recharge. We'll interface and call it even."

Prowl gave a wry snort. He was certain Jazz knew they were both too depleted of energy to do anything of the sort, despite willing CPUs, and suggested such as a joke, but he verbally cajoled his berth-mate nonetheless.

"Not tonight, Jazzy," he murmured, gently removing his visor and placing soft, feathery kisses on both his optics, which were already dimming again from exhaustion. He peppered the saboteur's face with languid caresses, moving slower and slower with each kiss. "Perhaps in the morning, when I don't feel like slitting an energon line with a report pad."

Jazz chuckled softly, lip components lazily seeking out the wandering ones of his mate, optics shuttered in both fatigue and satisfaction. "Hard day?"

"Worse night." Prowl halted his actions, leaning away from Jazz with a heavy sigh. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting."

"Then quit doin' it," was the Porsche's only response before reaching up and pulling Prowl back down by his chevron, thumb stroking hypnotic patterns against the flat edge of it as he kissed him soundly. The tactician gave a cross between a moan and a whimper. His hand went to Jazz's hip, deft fingers wriggling for purchase in a small crevice. Jazz made a soft noise of pleasure into Prowl's mouth, wrapping a leg around the Datsun's waist. Prowl leaned into the embrace willingly.

"I love you," he breathed as soon as they parted.

Jazz was suddenly wide awake and energized. His optics shot open to stare up at his lover with unmasked surprise, hands falling away from their administrations.

"Y' mean that." It wasn't a question, but the slight waver to his voice made his uncertainty clear.

"Of course," Prowl responded, slightly incredulous.

How could he think otherwise? Weren't his daily actions and displays of affection testament to such? While not overtly showy about their relationship in public, Prowl had made their fondness for one another no secret. And he was no stranger to the occasional public broadcasting of that fondness.

A sudden thought struck him cold: perhaps Jazz didn't love _him_. Maybe his affection for him went no more beyond that – just affection. Looking back, he could not recall a time either had said those three little words to one another. Was it because Jazz didn't feel them? Had Prowl just made a complete fool of himself?

As though he read the confusion and trepidation on Prowl's faceplates, Jazz reached up and stroked a comforting hand across his cheek.

"Don' get me wrong," he said quickly, optics still filled with residual shock, which was now mixed with reassurance. "I love ya, more'n anything, but… I won'ered…"

Here he faltered, optics looking away in embarrassment. "I kin'a won'ered… since you'd never said it, that maybe… maybe I was jus' some passin' fancy."

"Jazz." Prowl's tone was sharp. He jerked the smaller black and white's chin so he was forced to look up at him. "You have never been as little as a 'fancy' to me. It has always and only been love."

Jazz gave a watery smile. If Prowl hadn't been so furious with himself for not admitting his love aloud before now, he would have returned it.

"For Primus' sake!" he went on, "_I_ was the one to ask _you_ to move in with me!"

Jazz's smile grew, amusement colouring it.

"I was wonderin' 'bout that. Did you just loose your CPU when ya asked me, or did you actually…"

* * *

"… think you could get away with this?"

Prowl stood to his full height, spinal strut ramrod straight, as it always was. His wings were tilted up at a slight angle. His faceplates were clam and neutral, just like his voice, save for the small hint of a frown in the corner of his mouth.

Jazz could tell he was positively furious.

"Well, that _was_ the basic idea," he said with a cheeky grin. Prowl's left wing twitch minutely. Yup, he was abso-fraggin-lutely livid.

"This is the most outrageous display of insubordination I have ever seen," he said in a low hiss. "Yes, even for you two." This last bit was directed at the Twins, who looked as though they wanted to bring up a few incidents that would suggest otherwise. Fortunately, though, they decided proving him wrong wouldn't be worth it in this instance and wisely kept silent, letting the tactician's mate do all the talking.

"Aw, cummon, Prowler," he whined. "It was jus' a couple-a bumper stickers!

"You_ knew_ Secretary Keller was bringing the President today," Prowl countered, voice beginning to rise in volume. "Such a display of lewd, vulgar language is an unacceptable outrage in _regular_ circumstances, but to deliberately place 'just a couple of bumper stickers' on your commanding officers just before an inspection is an outright act of –"

"Okay, okay!" the Solstice cut him off mid rant. "Sorry! Bad timing on my part. I jus' fergot they was comin' today."

Prowl narrowed his optics in a glare. "Had you spent more time listening to me during the meeting yesterday than plotting with your two little accomplices –" he angry stare flicked over to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, who tried to look as small as possible "— you might have known such! As it is, you will spend the next orn in the brig."

"Aw, cummon baby, I've got a concert to go to with Sam an' Micky on Friday!" Jazz said. Or at least, he started to say. It turned out to be the damning comment, what truly sealed their fates. He got as far as "baby" and Prowl snapped. His doorwings all but flapping in outrage, he grabbed the little saboteur by on of the horns on his helm and began marching him down the corridor. Knowing they were meant to follow, Sunny and Sides quickly stumbled after the enraged Charger, trailing just a few steps behind him and his yelping mate all the way to the brig (earning quite a few stares along the way).

Prowl roughly pushed the third in command into the first open cell, the Solstice once again squealing in pain from the abuse to his horns. He scowled darkly at the Lamborghini twins. Having never seen him quite so openly furious, they scuttled past him and into their own individual cells without so much as a warble or click. The bars slammed down, the electromagnets that locked them into place humming to life. Then, seeming content to sit and watch his prisoners suffer, he plopped himself down behind the guard's desk, a station that had until that day remained vacant.

Whatever it was Prowl expected to see, no doubt he was sorely disappointed. The Twins were not at all themselves. It seemed that Prowl's little fit had scared them into good behavior, for instead of complaining loudly of their besmirched innocence of the unfairness of their punishment, they sat quietly in their separate cells, optics downcast and faceplates set in a look of sheepish repentance.

Jazz, on the other hand, looked to be having quite a decent time. He was stretched out on the hard, narrow berth in his cell, one leg crossed over the other, hands laced behind his head, and faceplates set in a small, contented smile. He was even humming a few odd snatches of songs to himself, one foot bouncing in time to the beat.

Prowl, who was not nearly as good at reading his mate as his mate was him, was unaware that Jazz was sulking.

And he was sulking big time. Normally all he had to do was put on a cute little pout and he could twist the tactician any way he pleased. (For all that logic, he really was a helpless push-over.) But here he was, wasting the next two weeks in the brig. He was going to miss the U2 concert!

He was bemoaning this last thought – internally, of course, lest he show Prowl his punishment was getting to him – when he noticed his mate staring at him. His optics were slightly unfocused, and he was biting at the inside of his lower lip component.

"Credit fer yer thoughts?" Jazz tried tentatively.

Prowl's gaze sharpened, and he shook his head minutely as though to clear his CPU.

"I'm just trying to figure out why I love you so much," he responded.

Jazz blinked. Had the comment not been spoken with such irritation, it might have been sweet. As it was, Jazz was a bit put out to have his lover say those long-desired words. They just didn't have the same meaning when spoken through prison bars.

"But still no chance of ya lettin' me out early, is there?" Jazz said hopefully, raising an optic ridge. Prowl's gaze narrowed.

"Whether I love you or not, what you did was still an inexcusable act of inconsiderate, defiant –"

"Yeah, yeah, I get the picture," Jazz muttered. He rolled over, looking up at the ceiling again, though this time the contented smile was a little more genuine. It was about that time he noticed the whisperings coming from the cells next to his.

"… seen a more disgraceful display," Sideswipe was saying to his twin. "I mean, have some fraggin' decorum – we're right here!"

"Embarrassing, I know," Sunstreaker agreed. "It's a good thing Prowl's such a stick-in-the-slag, else he'd let him out and we'd have to watch 'em kiss and make up."

Jazz grinned broadly, turning his head to look at his mate… who was suddenly not there. Wings twitching in mortification, he was quickly heading for the…

* * *

… table at the rear of the rec room. "Oh, frag it!" Hound exclaimed.

"Wha's wrong?" Jazz said, smiling around a mouthful of an energon goodie.

"Ugh, I just spilled energon all over my slaggin' report." He pushed the offending cube away. "Teach me to try and work and have lunch at the same time." He watched as Jazz craned his neck towards the door leading to the corridor for the tenth time. "I saw him talking with Wheeljack a few minutes ago," he said with a knowing smile. Jazz jumped a little guiltily.

"What?"

"Come on, Jazz. I remember when Mirage and I first got together; I couldn't wait to see him every day. I'd arrive half an hour early for every date and sit around bouncing my knees until he got there. Fun, isn't it?" he said with a merry grin.

"Yer in a good mood."

"What's wrong with that? Everyone's in a good mood these days. I've finally convinced my mate after fourteen years of being bonded to go on a camping trip with me, Ratchet's having a medical field day with Chromia sparking, Ironhide's going around singing little bolts-and-energon songs, Sam's still a galactic hero, and you and Prowl are walking around with stars in your eyes."

"Stars?" Prowl said, coming up to the table. Jazz smiled up at him.

"Yer late," the Solstice said as Prowl bent and planted a quick kiss on his upturned lip components, what Hound thought of as a "hi-honey" kiss. He sat down.

"Sorry, I was detained." He was carrying a small package which he set on the table.

"Wha's that?" Jazz asked curiously, pointing his half-eaten energon goodie at it.

"Oh, nothing…" his mate responded with an intentionally phony air of nonchalance, lacing his hands together on the table and casting his optics about the room like he hadn't a care in the world. The scout chuckled.

Jazz put down his treat and eyed the Charger, a smile flirting about his lip plating. "Is that fer me?"

The tactician cast a brief glance at Hound, then shrugged and slid the box towards his mate with a smile. He grinned as he opened it and drew out a small pendant intricately carved out of beautiful crystalline stone, marbled red and purple. Jazz fingered it silently, but Hound recognized that I'm-melting-into-my-shoes look on his faceplates. It was a look he'd been wearing a lot these past two months.

"Oh, Prowl," he breathed. "It's beautiful." He examined the stone more closely. "But...this stone..." He didn't finish the sentence, just looked up at his friend and mate, amazed. "I can't believe ya did this," he said. He stared at the Charger in wonder for a moment, then noticed Hound's puzzled expression.

"A few weeks ago we took a day trip to some island out in the Pacific," he explained. "It's one-a the most breathtaking spots on this planet, no exaggeration. We took a walk on th' beach and I noticed these strange stones all over the sand. I thought they were so beautiful...and now I find out that this mech – who ev'rybot thought had not a single romantic circuit in his body – picked up one-a th' stones without my noticin' and had it made into a statuette for me," Jazz said, his optics locked with those of his mate's.

"Wow," the scout said, impressed. "I've gotta say, Prowl, that's… really romantic." He might as well not have spoken for all they noticed.

"It was nothing at all," Prowl said softly, "for how much I love you."

The way Jazz leaned back, faceplates pulling into a look of absolute surprise and wonderment, made Hound think that was the first time he'd said The Words. He stared uneasily into his half full cube of energon, suddenly feeling like the worst kind of interloper.

"I love you, too," Jazz said with a soft smile. Then the moment was over as he carefully replaced the pendant in its bed of glass wool and closed up the box.

"I feel like a Peeping Tom," Hound said, embarrassed.

"A what?" Prowl asked, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

"Never mind," the scout said. "I just wish I hadn't…"

… shouted as the bridge gave out with a sickening wet crunch. His hands clutched desperately at disintegrating boards and the rock walls as he fell, then he managed to snag something small, something that went taut and stopped his fall. His other hand came up and grabbed at it. Looking up, he could see Jazz's panicked face a good twenty meters above him. It was his grappling hook he was holding onto.

"Hold on!" he called down to the tactician. His faceplates contorted with effort as he began to pull the line back up. Prowl tried to help, bracing his feet against the rocks so Jazz wouldn't bear all his weight, but the cliff wall was sheer and slick with damp algae. He could not get an adequate foothold.

"Jazz!" called a faint voice. Bluestreak.

"Here!" he called over his shoulder. After a moment, the gunner showed up beside him.

"Can you pull him back up?" he asked.

"I'm tryin'," Jazz grunted, the line pulsing and rippling with the effort. He vented a cry of frustration. "I can't! I'm too far stretched out!"

At that moment, Jazz – who had been lying on his stomach, leaning over the edge of the cliff to catch Prowl – lost his grip on the rocks and began to slip over the precipice. Prowl felt a sudden jolt of panic, one that was not entirely quelled even when Bluestreak threw his weight upon the saboteur to keep him from falling over as well.

"Bluestreak, help pull him back up!" Jazz barked.

"I can't!" the gunner wailed. "If we let go of you, you're both gonna fall!"

Prowl gritted his dental plates, concentrating on holding onto the line. It was difficult, the thin cord slipping in his hands, wanting to slide from beneath his fingers. It was no use; he couldn't hold on, and they had not the strength to pull him back up. A sudden peace stole over him as this realization struck home. The Matrix was calling him. He welcomed the thought, save for one regret: he didn't want to leave Jazz, not so soon.

_If Primus only gave us a few weeks here,_ he told himself,_ he will give us an eternity later._

"Prowl! Hold on!" Jazz shouted down, panic now clear in his voice as he felt his love slipping away. Prowl turned his face upwards and met his optics.

"I love you," he said for the first and last time, just as his fingers lost their grip. Gravity seized him and he plummeted toward the distant floor of the rocky canyon.

"NOOOO!" Jazz let out an anguished scream, futilely reaching down into the chasm's black depths. Bluestreak gasped in horror, but tightened his grip around the saboteur to keep him from hurling himself after his love. Jazz struggled against the…

* * *

… soft sounds of a single violin playing a sonata. It had a hint of melancholy to it, as Prowl thought the violin always did when played alone. But it was a soothing sound a familiar comfort, one that quickly eased away all the stress and tension of the day and enveloped him in the tranquil folds of the night.

Along with the welcoming arms of the evening were the waiting ones of his mate, his beloved Jazz. Prowl walked into them willingly, smiling happily to himself as he bent down to bury his faceplates in the wiring and cables of Jazz's neck.

"Ev'ning, love," the smaller mech rumbled. The sound from his vocalizer vibrated gently through Prowl, making his smile widen.

"How did you get in here?" the tactician asked, curious though not at all put out.

"It wasn't easy," Jazz chuckled, sending more small vibrations through his lover's frame. "How come ya keep changin' yer entrance code?"

Prowl snorted. "Because at first I thought you were the Twins or Blaster playing some sort of prank on me."

"Oh, a real good one, too," Jazz replied with a snort of his own. "They come in an' leave energon for ya, or fill up a hot oil bath for ya."

"Or rearrange every knick-knack in my quarters."

"Well, that was just the neat freak in me comin' out. Fer a straight-set, logical control nut, you sure keep cluttered quarters."

"I am sorry that they did not meet your standards."

"No prob. They do now!"

Prowl let loose a rare laugh, pulling his face away from Jazz's neck only to swoop down again and kiss him soundly. The smaller black and white offered no resistance, kissing him back with a soft sigh of approval.

Breaking the kiss – which was far too short for Jazz's liking – Prowl grabbed his beloved in a loose embrace and began twirling him around the room in an impromptu waltz to the music still playing in the background.

"I love that you rearranged everything," Prowl confessed as they danced. "I love it, mostly because it was you that did it. I love coming home every night to find that energon or oil bath. I love that you keep breaking into my rooms to set them up for me, even though I keep changing my pass codes. I love finding you waiting for me on my berth. I love every little thing you do. I love _you._"

"Put that to a tune and you've got yerself a cheesy country song," Jazz smiled up at him.

"I'm serious, Jazz."

"I know you are." He reached up to place a hand on his cheekplate. "An' I love you too."

"You've made that quite evident." Prowl turned his head into Jazz's hand, placing a kiss on his palm. "I just wanted you to know that it isn't one-sided. _I_ want to be here for _you._"

A sultry grin worked itself onto Jazz's faceplates. He stopped suddenly, halting their waltz.

"I can think of a way you can do that," he said, tugging on Prowl's arm and leading him into …

* * *

… the sanctuary he knew held the body of his lover.

Before he'd even made landfall, before the Autobots had confirmed its truth, somewhere deep down, he knew.

He was aware of the high probability of it – knew it _could_ and most likely _would _happen – but something other than logic told him it was so.

Even without a bond, even without that connection they had denied themselves for so many vorns, he knew.

The universe just couldn't feel the same without him.

It shouldn't have been a surprise to him. They were at war. His battle computer didn't allow him the luxury of ignorance – he knew the probability of never coming home was high, even higher for Jazz because of his position among the Autobots. He was leaving Cybertron to follow Megatron and – at whatever cost – stop him from obtaining the All-Spark. Not to mention, of course, that Jazz was no stranger to flamboyantly risky actions.

Prowl knew the risks.

So the only thing that surprised him was the tears.

He stood over the form of his lover, forever more at rest, and spoke the words that should have been said vorns ago.

"I love you, Jazz."

I tear cut a path along his cheekplate, falling from his chin onto the body of his intended.

"Goodbye."


End file.
